===Godrick===
It took nearly half a day for Godrick to reach the place he had sought.
Ever since he had been a small child, stories of the legendary lake had found their way to his ears, whispered by servants, knights, and even Artoria herself.
She had once stood upon its shores during her youth, and Lancelot had spoken of it with an uncommon reverence that he afforded few places in the world.
Dozmary Pool was said to be older than Camelot itself, older than the kingdoms of men, a place where the boundary between the mortal world and something far greater had worn thin over countless ages.
It rested just south of Marquess Grasso’s territory and west of the coastal city of Tyddewi, where Anthrax and Noel had claimed the Warlord was waiting.
The timing was tight, but he wasn’t overly concerned.
Once Lancelot reached Camelot and informed Artoria of everything that had transpired, she would undoubtedly gather her finest knights and ride south without delay.
The march back to the capital would take another day since the army traveled on foot, which meant he still had a small window before the coming battle.
By the time the lake finally came into view, night had long since claimed the countryside.
A blanket of cool mist rolled endlessly across the moors, swallowing the hills until only vague silhouettes remained beneath the pale glow of the moon.
The air was unnaturally still, absent of even the chirping of insects or the rustling of leaves, as though the land itself had fallen silent out of respect for the ancient place.
At first, Dozmary Pool appeared to be nothing more than a stretch of black water reflecting the stars overhead.
Yet with every step his horse carried him closer, the lake began to change.
Beneath its perfectly smooth surface, soft blue lights flickered to life like distant constellations awakening beneath the water.
Gentle currents of luminescent mist curled through the depths, weaving together into elegant spirals that cast an ethereal glow across the shoreline.
Godrick slowed his horse to a stop and quietly dismounted, allowing the great animal to wander where it pleased.
His armored boots crunched softly against the loose stones as he descended the rocky bank toward the water’s edge, his eyes fixed upon the center of the lake where the strange light had begun to gather.
The glow intensified until it illuminated the surrounding fog, and from within that veil a lone figure gradually emerged.
She walked across the water as though it were solid glass.
Every step she took sent shimmering rings of sapphire light racing outward across the lake’s surface, illuminating the darkness beneath her feet.
Wherever those ripples spread, the black water came alive with countless tiny lights swirling together like stars suspended beneath the surface.
The closer she came, the brighter the lake became, until the entire pool shimmered with an otherworldly radiance.
She was a beautiful woman, tall by any ordinary measure though still nearly a head shorter than Godrick himself.
Long platinum hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back, dripping with crystal-clear water that never seemed to stop falling.
A simple white dress clung to her graceful figure, soaked through as though she had only moments before emerged from the lake’s depths.
There was nothing regal or ostentatious about her appearance, yet something about her presence carried an indescribable weight that made the very world seem quieter around her.
She smiled as she approached, but it was a fragile smile.
Her eyes were red around their edges, swollen as though she had spent hours weeping.
Thin trails of moisture traced gentle paths down her cheeks, though Godrick could not tell whether they were tears or merely droplets from her damp hair.
Reaching the shoreline, he removed his helmet and knelt to lower a hand into the glowing water.
It was cool against his skin, refreshing rather than cold, carrying with it a strange sensation that settled deep within his body.
It felt…
alive.
As he rose once more, the woman finally spoke.
“Hello… Aegeus.”
The unfamiliar name caused Godrick’s brow to furrow, and he tilted his head in silent confusion.
The woman’s smile faltered.
For just a heartbeat, grief overtook her composure.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes before she gently forced another smile onto her face.
“My… how you’ve grown over the years.”
Godrick remained silent, studying her carefully.
Despite her calm demeanor, he noticed the faint trembling in her hands and the subtle quiver in her voice, as though simply standing before him required immense effort.
She drew a slow, steady breath to compose herself.
“I know you must have many questions,” she said softly, gesturing toward the glowing water beside him.
“But those can wait for a moment. First… drink.”
Though every instinct urged caution, something about her presence inspired trust.
Without another word, he knelt once more, cupping the luminous water in both hands before bringing it to his lips.
The instant he swallowed, a soothing warmth spread through his throat, but within seconds it faded, leaving behind an unfamiliar sensation that coursed through his chest.
The silence that had imprisoned him for years suddenly loosened its grip.
The woman looked at him expectantly.
“Speak.”
Godrick opened his mouth.
At first, only the faintest whisper escaped his lips, little more than air passing through his vocal cords long left unused.
He swallowed, tried again, and this time a rough, rasping voice emerged.
“…How?”
A gentle smile touched the woman’s lips, warmer this time.
“Magic, dear child,” she answered softly.
“My magic. While you stand within my domain, your voice has been returned to you. Once you leave these waters, however, the enchantment will fade, and silence will claim you once again.”
Godrick instinctively reached toward his throat, disbelief plain upon his face.
He spoke again, testing the miracle for himself.
“Who… are you?”
“My name is Vivian.”
The name stirred no memory, yet the sadness in her expression only deepened as she looked upon him.
“You called me Aegeus,” he said carefully.
“Why?”
For the briefest instant, she froze.
Pain flickered across her face before she lowered her gaze.
“…I misspoke,” she replied quietly.
“Forgive me.”
It was a lie.
Godrick could feel it, though he could not understand why she had spoken another name with such familiarity…
or why correcting herself had seemed to wound her so deeply.
She lifted her eyes to meet his once more, forcing her emotions back beneath the surface.
“There will be time for questions later,” Vivian said, her voice growing noticeably more solemn.
“It is fortunate that you came here tonight, because there is something you must know before it is too late.”
The warmth in her expression vanished entirely.
“Artoria must not face the Warlord.”
Godrick’s eyes widened.
He stepped forward until the cool water lapped around his boots, alarm immediately replacing his confusion.
“What do you mean?” he demanded, genuine concern entering his newly returned voice.
“My mother is the greatest sword user in all of Camelot. Not even my sister and I together have ever managed to defeat her.”
For a brief moment, pain flickered across Vivian’s face again.
Godrick assumed she doubted Artoria’s skill.
The truth was far more complicated.
“You misunderstand me,” she said softly, shaking her head.
“This has nothing to do with Artoria’s ability. She is every bit the warrior you believe her to be, but she is not yet ready to face the Warlord. If she rides into that battle now, she will die.”
Her words carried no uncertainty, no hesitation.
They were spoken with the calm conviction of someone stating an unavoidable truth rather than offering an opinion.
Godrick frowned.
“How can you possibly know that?”
“It has already been foreseen,” Vivian answered.
“A prophecy declares that Artoria must not face the Warlord in the coming battle. Should she do so, her life will end there.”
The lake fell silent once more.
Godrick lowered his gaze, his thoughts racing faster than he could order them.
If Artoria truly could not defeat the Warlord, then Camelot’s greatest champion would fall before the kingdom’s greatest enemy.
If that happened…
Who remained?
His eyes lifted back to hers.
“Who made this prophecy?”
“Merlin.”
The single name was enough to make him pause.
Merlin was many things.
He was strange, secretive, and at times impossible to understand, but no one questioned the accuracy of his visions.
If the court mage had foreseen Artoria’s death, then dismissing it would be foolish.
His thoughts immediately turned elsewhere.
“Where is Mordred?” he asked.
“If my sister fights beside us, perhaps together we can bring the Warlord down.”
Vivian’s expression softened, though sorrow lingered behind her eyes.
“She lives,” she answered.
“She has been imprisoned far to the north, and her sword has been taken from her. She has suffered only minor injuries… for now.”
Godrick’s brow furrowed.
“For now?”
Vivian looked away for only a moment before meeting his eyes once again.
“If the Warlord survives the coming battle…” she whispered, “…she will kill both Artoria and Mordred.”
Her voice trembled as she spoke those words, and although Godrick noticed it, he pushed the observation aside.
There were more pressing concerns.
He stood silently for several moments, staring across the glowing lake as he pieced everything together.
If Artoria would die…
if Mordred would die…
then someone else had to stand in their place.
Slowly, he looked back toward Vivian.
Vivian simply nodded.
“Yes.” Barely more than a whisper escaped her lips, yet it carried all the certainty of fate itself.
“I’ve fought the Warlord before,” he said, shaking his head.
“She defeated me as though I were nothing. I couldn’t even force her to take me seriously.” His eyes narrowed.
“How am I supposed to defeat someone like that now?”
Rather than answer immediately, Vivian slowly raised one graceful hand and pointed toward the center of the lake.
“The strength you seek lies beneath those waters.”
Godrick followed her gaze into the dark depths, where the faint blue lights drifted lazily through the blackness below.
Whatever rested there was hidden from sight, concealed beneath centuries of still water.
He looked back at her.
“This water…” he said thoughtfully.
“It healed my voice. How?”
“The enchantment is only temporary,” Vivian explained.
“Once you leave my domain, your silence will return. These waters possess ancient magic unlike anything found elsewhere in the world. They awaken the dormant potential hidden within those destined for greatness. Long ago they answered Artoria. They answered Lancelot as well.”
Her eyes settled upon him.
“Tonight… they will answer you.”
Godrick instinctively touched his throat before looking once more toward the glowing lake.
“And that will make me strong enough?”
“It will allow you to become what you were always capable of becoming.”
Vivian stepped closer to the shoreline, the glowing water swirling gently around her bare feet.
“But strength alone will not be enough. The Warlord wields a blade unlike any other, and no ordinary weapon will stand against it.”
She extended a hand toward the depths.
“In the heart of this lake rests a sword worthy of opposing hers. There you will find both the weapon and the power needed to carry you toward your fate.”
The breeze stirred her long silver hair as she turned back toward him, and for the first time since they had met, she spoke his name without hesitation.
“Have faith, dear Godrick.”
Though the words were gentle, they seemed to pain her.
The sadness behind them was impossible to miss.
Godrick offered a single nod.
There was no point questioning destiny further.
If this was the only path left to save Artoria and Mordred, then he would walk it without complaint.
He quietly removed his armor, setting each piece carefully upon the rocky shore before stripping away the rest of his clothing.
The night air was cool against his scarred skin, but he paid it no mind as he stepped into the lake.
The water was colder now than when he had first tasted it, though not unbearably so.
Gentle ripples spread away from him with every step as the glowing currents wrapped themselves around his legs, almost welcoming him into their embrace.
Vivian watched him in silence.
When his broad back turned toward her, her composure shattered.
The countless scars that covered his body stole the breath from her lungs.
Thick lines from old lashings crisscrossed his shoulders in cruel patterns, while burns, cuts, and puncture wounds overlapped one another from years of relentless hardship.
But those were small compared to the mark burned permanently into his flesh.
Her trembling hand rose to cover her mouth as tears welled in her eyes once more.
This was what had become of her son.
The child she had carried.
The child she had dreamed would one day stand beside her as the guardian of Avalon and protector of the fairy folk.
Instead, Merlin had stolen him from her the moment he entered the world.
He had ripped Aegeus from his mother’s arms, hidden him among mankind, and shaped him into a weapon forged through suffering and blood.
When Vivian had finally confronted him all those years ago, Merlin had spoken only of prophecy, insisting that a towering knight wielding a great two-handed sword would one day restore peace to Camelot.
She had wanted to believe him.
She had wanted to believe there had been no other choice.
Yet as she looked upon the scars carved into her son’s flesh, every justification Merlin had ever offered rang hollow.
The old mage had a habit of speaking in half-truths, revealing only enough to guide others toward the future he desired while concealing the rest beneath layers of prophecy and riddles.
The prophecy was true…
but only in part.
Godrick was indeed destined to stand at the heart of Camelot’s salvation, yet his place within that destiny was far more complicated than Merlin had ever admitted.
There were truths the old mage had buried even from her, truths that would reshape the kingdom before the end.
For now, however, all that mattered was that her son had found his way back to the lake.
As Godrick descended into the ancient waters, he immediately felt the tension leave his body.
The aches accumulated from years of endless battle simply melted away beneath the lake’s gentle embrace, while every wound, old and new alike, seemed to lose the lingering pain they had carried.
The deeper he walked, the more vibrant the glow around him became.
Countless ribbons of sapphire light drifted through the water like living spirits, wrapping around his body before disappearing into his skin.
Rather than struggling for breath, he realized he had no need to breathe at all.
The lake sustained him as naturally as the air above, allowing him to continue his descent into depths no ordinary man could ever survive.
The darkness gradually gave way to a brilliant light.
The deeper he traveled, the clearer everything became until the floor of the lake spread before him like an ancient forgotten sanctuary.
There, illuminated by the shimmering waters, stood a solitary stone worn smooth by countless ages.
Embedded within its center rested a magnificent two-handed greatsword, untouched by rust or time, as though it had been waiting patiently for this very moment.
While Godrick journeyed toward the sword, Vivian quietly turned her attention elsewhere.
Raising a graceful hand, she beckoned toward his waiting horse.
The great beast trotted obediently to the shoreline before lowering its head to drink from the enchanted waters.
Almost immediately, the same sapphire light flowed through its body.
Muscles beneath its coat swelled with renewed vitality, old scars vanished one after another, and the weariness from the long campaign simply ceased to exist.
Its breathing steadied, its stance grew stronger, and its already impressive frame broadened ever so slightly.
By the time it lifted its head once more, it stood taller and prouder than before, strengthened by the lake’s ancient magic in preparation for the journey still ahead.
Vivian then turned toward the neatly arranged armor resting upon the shore.
Stretching out a hand, she whispered words older than Camelot itself.
Blue runes shimmered briefly across each piece of steel before fading away.
The armor slowly shifted, every plate subtly reshaping itself, every leather strap lengthening, every joint widening until it would comfortably fit a warrior far larger than the man who had entered the lake.
Only once the spell was complete did she look back toward the depths.
Godrick had finally reached the sword.
Even beneath the water, it possessed an undeniable majesty.
Its massive pommel was forged from polished gold, cradling a brilliant sapphire that glowed with the same inner light as the gemstones Morgan and Merlin had placed within his armor.
The grip was wrapped in deep royal blue leather, accented with elegant bands of gold, while the crossguard swept outward in graceful wings of polished steel adorned with intricate azure inlays.
The blade itself shimmered like liquid silver, unmarred by time, with a single golden vein running perfectly through its center from hilt to tip.
Ancient runes lined both sides of the weapon, and as Godrick drew nearer, those runes awakened one by one, bathing the lake floor in radiant light.
He reached forward without hesitation and wrapped both hands around the hilt.
The instant his fingers closed around it, everything changed.
The immense strength he had gained from the lake suddenly abandoned him.
His muscles weakened, and his heartbeat slowed.
The confidence filling his chest dissolved beneath an overwhelming pressure that bore down upon both body and soul.
It felt as though the sword itself was judging him.
His knees nearly buckled, and nearly every instinct screamed at him to let go.
His hands trembled violently around the hilt as the crushing weight threatened to force his fingers open.
His vision blurred, his thoughts grew sluggish, and for one terrible moment he wondered if he truly was unworthy.
Then another feeling rose within him.
The feeling of defiance.
He had survived slavery.
He had survived endless beatings.
He had survived battles that should have killed him a dozen times over.
He had endured every cruelty the world had thrown at him without once surrendering.
He would not surrender now.
Godrick clenched his jaw and planted his feet firmly against the stone beneath him.
Every fiber of his being pushed back against the sword’s will.
It became less a test of strength than one of resolve, a silent contest between two unyielding spirits.
Seconds stretched into what felt like hours.
Then, without warning… The blade accepted him.
The runes erupted with brilliant sapphire light as the greatsword slid effortlessly free from the stone for the first time in countless generations.
Godrick slowly rose from the glowing depths with the colossal sword resting across one shoulder.
Water cascaded from his body in shimmering streams, revealing that the lake had changed far more than simply granting him a weapon.
He had grown.
His shoulders had broadened considerably, his chest becoming thicker and more powerfully built.
Every muscle across his body was more defined than before.
His face had sharpened with maturity, while his already imposing stature had increased until he now stood a full eight feet tall, towering even over Vivian herself.
He looked down at his own hands in astonishment before flexing them experimentally.
“What… happened to me?”
Vivian approached slowly, unable to hide the pride in her eyes.
“The magic of this place has awakened what lay dormant within you,” she said softly.
“It has granted you limitless potential to continue growing stronger. You are no longer the man who entered these waters.”
Her gaze shifted toward the sword.
“And now you possess the means to stand against the Warlord as her equal.”
She gently placed a hand upon the flat of the blade, her fingers tracing the glowing runes with quiet reverence.
“This is Caliburn.”
She smiled faintly.
“It seems fate had other plans.”
“Caliburn has accepted you as its bearer, but only for a short while. When it has fulfilled its purpose, it will return here to rest once again.”
Godrick studied the weapon carefully.
“I can feel something inside it.”
“You should,” Vivian replied.
“The sword still holds a fragment of its ancient power. You may call upon that power only once. When the moment comes, speak its name… and Caliburn will answer.”
Godrick’s expression fell.
“But once I leave this place… I won’t be able to speak anymore.”
“…No,” Vivian admitted quietly.
She hesitated before asking, “Do you carry anything capable of holding water?”
Godrick buried Caliburn’s blade into the earth beside him before walking toward his horse.
Only then did he notice that the animal appeared larger and healthier than when he had arrived, though he gave it little thought.
Removing the waterskin from his saddle, he emptied its contents onto the ground before returning to the lake.
Kneeling beside Vivian, he filled it carefully with the glowing water before sealing it tightly.
She watched him in silence.
“Remember this well, Godrick,” she said.
“The enchantment will not last forever. Once removed from the lake, the water will slowly lose its magic until it becomes nothing more than ordinary water. Do not waste it.”
He nodded solemnly.
“I understand.”
After dressing in his newly altered armor, he tested its fit and found that every piece settled perfectly against his larger frame.
He smiled for the first time since arriving.
“I’ll return after I’ve slain the Warlord.”
His voice carried genuine determination.
“Thank you… for everything.”
Before he could leave, Vivian gently raised a hand.
“Godrick… kneel.”
Though confused, he obeyed.
She lifted Caliburn from the ground with both hands and rested the flat of its blade upon his right shoulder, then his left.
It was an ancient rite, one older than kingdoms, older than Camelot itself.
When the ceremony was finished, she simply looked into his eyes.
Unable to restrain herself any longer, Vivian stepped forward and wrapped both arms around him, drawing his head gently against her chest.
She held him there as silent sobs shook her body before pressing a soft kiss against his forehead.
Godrick knelt frozen.
He did not understand why this stranger grieved for him so deeply.
Yet somehow… Her embrace felt so familiar.
When she finally stepped back, he offered her a respectful bow before mounting his horse.
As he turned toward the southern road, Vivian called after him one last time.
“Godrick!”
He looked back.
Her expression was filled with equal parts hope and despair.
“One Queen must die… so that another may live.”
His brow furrowed.
“What does that mean?” He called back.
Vivian merely smiled through her tears, offering no explanation.
Left with more questions than answers, Godrick gave one final nod before urging his horse into motion.
Together with Caliburn resting across his back, he disappeared into the mist, riding once more toward the war that would decide the fate of Camelot.
===
Vivian remained standing in the glowing waters long after Godrick had disappeared into the veil of mist.
She watched until even the rhythmic sound of his horse’s hooves had faded into silence, as though refusing to accept that he had truly gone.
Only when there was nothing left to see did the strength leave her.
Her knees buckled, yet instead of sinking beneath the surface, she collapsed onto the lake itself as though it were polished glass.
She folded in on herself, trembling violently as years of restrained sorrow finally overwhelmed her.
Tears spilled freely from her eyes, scattering across the enchanted water and causing gentle ripples of pale blue light to spread in every direction.
The Lady of the Lake, one of the oldest and most powerful beings in the world, could do nothing but weep for the son she had held for only a single fleeting moment before he had been stolen from her.
Slowly, a lone figure emerged from the darkness, walking across the surface of the water with unhurried steps.
His weathered robes barely stirred despite the wind, and the old wooden staff in his hand tapped softly against the shimmering lake.
Merlin stopped several paces behind Vivian, saying nothing at first.
He simply looked toward the distant horizon where Godrick had vanished, his ancient eyes carrying a weariness few living souls could understand.
Vivian sensed his presence immediately.
Without looking back, her shoulders stiffened.
“…Why?” she whispered, her voice cracking beneath the weight of her unbearable grief.
“Why did you take him from me?”
Merlin closed his eyes for a long moment before carefully reaching out to rest a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
She recoiled from his touch as though he had burned her.
“The world needed him,” Merlin answered quietly.
“We cannot lose Artoria, and he is the only one capable of facing the Warlord.”
It was a lie.
Not a complete one, but a lie all the same.
Merlin knew that the strength Godrick had gained this night, remarkable though it was, would still not be enough to guarantee victory.
The path ahead remained shrouded in uncertainty, and the prophecy he had spent decades weaving was far more complicated than the version he had shared with either Vivian or Artoria.
“Artoria does not possess the resolve necessary to kill the Warlord,” Merlin continued, his voice heavy with regret.
“If she learns who her enemy truly is while crossing blades with her… she will hesitate. That single moment of hesitation will be enough to cost her life.”
Vivian slowly rose to her feet, her platinum hair hanging around her like a silver curtain.
She turned to face him, and the grief in her eyes had begun to give way to fury.
“You stole him from me,” she hissed.
The waters of Dozmary Pool began to churn.
“When he was born…” she continued, each word trembling with barely restrained rage, “you tore my son from my arms, and handed him to slavers!”
The glowing waters began to rise.
“You condemned him to chains… to beatings… to starvation… to branding…” Her voice rose with every accusation until it echoed across the lake.
“All so that one day he might be found and raised by that woman!”
The lake exploded upward.
Towering pillars of water rose into the night sky before freezing in place around them, suspended by Vivian’s magic.
The peaceful mist that had blanketed the lake moments earlier was torn apart as violent winds swept across the valley.
Dark clouds gathered overhead, blotting out the moon while jagged bolts of lightning danced silently through the heavens.
“He is MY son!” Vivian screamed, the force of her voice sending waves crashing across the shoreline.
“Not hers!”
Merlin remained motionless, allowing her fury to wash over him.
“All because of your precious…” Her voice broke, tears streaming freely once again.
“…your precious greater good.”
Lightning split the heavens, and the mountains surrounding the lake trembled.
Ancient trees bent beneath the winds that had not existed a heartbeat earlier, while the very air vibrated beneath the weight of Vivian’s magic.
Had any ordinary person stood within the vicinity of Dozmary Pool, they would have believed the world itself was coming apart.
Merlin lowered his head.
“I know,” he said quietly.
“No.” Vivian’s voice became frighteningly calm, though it carried infinitely more menace than her screams had.
“You don’t.”
She stepped toward him, and the waters beneath her feet glowed with blinding brilliance.
“You robbed him of his childhood. You robbed me of watching him grow. You robbed us of every laugh, every step, every memory we were supposed to have together.”
She stopped only a few feet from him, her crimson eyes blazing with divine fury.
“You made my son suffer so humanity might have a weapon.”
Merlin could offer no defense because she was right.
Everything she accused him of…
he had done.
For the first time in many years, the old wizard found himself unable to meet another’s gaze.
Vivian stared at him for several long moments before finally speaking again, her voice little more than a whisper.
“Leave.”
Merlin remained where he stood.
“I said…” The waters around them surged once more.
“…leave.”
He slowly inclined his head.
“I am sorry.”
Another bolt of lightning crashed across the sky, illuminating the lake in brilliant white.
“Return to that damned tower of yours,” Vivian said, each word cold enough to freeze the air itself.
“Hide behind your prophecies and your plans. Because if I ever see you again…”
Her magic swelled until the very fabric of the world seemed to groan beneath its weight.
“…I will kill you.”
Merlin believed her.
Without another word, he bowed deeply to the grieving mother before turning away.
His footsteps gradually disappeared into the mist until neither he nor his presence could be felt any longer.
Vivian stood alone once more.
The storm lingered only a few moments after his departure before slowly beginning to fade.
The towering walls of water collapsed gently back into the lake, the winds died away, and the clouds gradually drifted apart to reveal the moon once again.